


Touch

by Demerite



Series: Trektober 2019 [23]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Sexual Situations, Fade to Black, M/M, Massage, Massage Therapist Bones, Police Officer Jim, Unprofessional behaviour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 04:24:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21155579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demerite/pseuds/Demerite
Summary: To aid in his recovery from a workplace injury, Jim's doctor recommends massage therapy. Jim'sreallynot into the idea, until he meets his massage therapist.





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> For the Day 24 Prompt: Massage. 
> 
> As always, I'm Australian, so I use Australian terminology/spellings. I have no clue how the US healthcare system works, and honestly, at this point, I'm too scared to ask. 
> 
> Also, much of this is Very Unprofessional Behaviour. Please don't try to bone your massage therapist, or your clients.
> 
> Also also it was 34 degrees C when I wrote this and I don't have A/C, so it's probably trash.

Jim had always imagined that if he was going to get seriously injured in the line of duty - and he knew it would happen eventually - it was going to be doing something dramatic and heroic. Like getting stabbed busting a major drug ring, or getting shot protecting a hostage, or something like that. Slipping on wet newspaper, falling on his ass mid-pursuit and throwing his back out? Not dramatic, not heroic, and _definitely _not funny Hikaru, stop laughing. 

And of course, that landed him on desk duty which, _god no_. It's been four weeks, with at least another two, plus a full physical, before he's allowed back in the field, and Jim is slowly going absolutely insane. 

"Is there _anything _I can do to speed this up?" He asks his doctor, somewhat petulantly. 

"Well, you might try massages." Dr. Boyce muses, "The literature is fairly positive in regards to their benefit in cases like yours." 

Jim snorts. "You really think going to the _spa _is gonna help me get back on my feet?" He asks, eyebrows raised. 

"No, I think going to a remedial massage therapist with training in dealing with injuries like yours is going to help." Dr. Boyce says, shutting Jim down before he can get started. "I'll give you the details of one of my colleagues." 

~*~

Jim hadn't been excited by the prospect then, and he isn't excited by the prospect now, but he _really _wants to be out in the field, where he belongs, making a difference, not chained to a desk eight hours a day sifting through mountains of paperwork, so he actually makes an appointment, and a few days later, he shows up for it. 

The clinic looks exactly like any number of doctor's surgeries and physical therapist's offices that Jim's been in over the years. It's light and pleasant and there's generic-looking art on the waiting-room walls, a stack of magazines and public health information leaflets on a side-table, and a fish tank, filter bubbling away cheerfully, opposite the receptionist's desk. 

Jim settles into a chair to wait. He's early, not that his boss would ever believe it, and he's somewhere in between nervous and defensive about the whole idea still. He's not sure how he feels about being basically naked while someone pokes and prods at him for the next hour. He's not sure he wants to be that undefended. 

"James Kirk?" A voice calls, and Jim looks up in the direction of it, and freezes. Broad shoulders, hazel-green eyes, dark hair that looks like it would be incredibly soft if Jim reached out and touched it. 

Oh shit. Oh no. Abort, abort, abort. _He’s hot._

There is _no way _Jim is going to be able to get through an entire hour with this guy’s hands on him without doing or saying something _incredibly _inappropriate. 

Somehow, he manages to get to his feet, cross the room, and introduce himself without making a fool of himself in front of the gorgeous man, whose name is Leonard. Jim's already decided he needs a nickname. 

He's not sure how, but he hasn't been kicked out by the time he's ushered into a small room, and bid to go behind the screen erected in one corner, strip down to his underwear, and then come back out and lie facedown on the massage table while Leonard drapes a sheet over his legs. At least this way, Jim thinks, settling into position on the table, when he inevitably gets an erection - and he knows it's an inevitability - it won't be so visible. 

"I'm going to start slow to warm up your muscles before I work on problem areas." Leonard's voice is warm and pleasant, and Jim just nods along, because he's already having to work very hard to keep his thoughts under control. Never mind about worrying about being undefended, he's more worried about accidentally giving voice to the fantasies already populating the inside of his brain that mostly involve those hands places other than his back. 

The first touch on his skin makes him jump a little. 

"Sorry." A large, warm hand presses down gently between his shoulder blades, "Just try to relax okay?" 

"Sorry." Jim replies, tries to make it happen, breathing slow and deep and _willing _the tension out of his muscles. 

It must be enough, because those hands return to moving, the touch only light at first, slowly increasing in pressure. 

"Stressful job?" Leonard asks after a short while. 

Jim laughs, "I'm a cop." 

"I can tell." Fingers dig into his back, and Jim winces. 

"Bullshit." He says, because there's no way he can know just from poking Jim's back for a few minutes. 

"It's all in where and how you carry tension." Leonard explains, "Like here." He presses against a knot of muscle in Jim's back, doesn't let up until Jim feels something release, like a spring coming uncoiled. 

"Ow, oh, _fuck_." Jim's complaint is cut off because that feels _really _fucking good, like the tension is physically draining away from that spot, leaving behind a pleasant, warm, relaxed feeling. 

"Told you." Leonard says, a little smugly, "Now, would you _try _to relax." 

"I am relaxed." Jim argues. 

"No, you're not. If you were then this," He digs his fingers into another knot in the muscle, and Jim winces, "Wouldn't hurt nearly as much at it does." 

Jim doesn't curse him out, but only because those hands are digging into another knot, releasing the tension and then smoothing over the skin, the touch warm and soothing and Jim struggles to remember the last time he's had this much physical contact with _anyone. _And he knows that's probably kinda sad, but it's not like he has the time to consider dating, so really, this is a totally reasonable reaction, right? 

He knows it's not, that he shouldn't be getting turned on just from having someone touch his back like this, skilled fingers deftly releasing the tension he hadn't even known was there, but it's not enough to stop him from _thinking, _from letting himself get lost in all-too-pleasant fantasies. He should probably feel worse about it than he does. 

All too soon, the hour is up. 

Leonard gets Jim to sit up, slowly, and Jim is fervently grateful for the sheet and the way it pools in his lap, hiding his shame. 

"Drink." Leonard says, handing him a glass of water, and Jim does. 

He's left alone to get dressed again, which is another thing he's thankful for. 

Jim doesn't see Leonard while he's booking another appointment, a week from now. At least with more appointments, maybe he'll be able to build up a tolerance, and avoid totally embarrassing himself? 

~*~

If anything, having more appointments only makes matters worse. Jim barely makes it through each session, sure that Bones - the nickname Jim had finally decided felt right - is realising the kind of effect he's having on Jim, but somehow, his reactions remain unnoticed, or at the very least, uncommented on, and Jim is able to leave each session with at least a few shreds of his dignity intact. 

But it all comes to a head in Jim's final session. 

He's been cleared to go back into the field that morning, but he didn't want the cancel the appointment, because he knew it would be his last. He wants to see Bones one more time, to feel those hands on his skin once more. It's kind of pathetic, he knows. 

He tells Bones he's heading back to fieldwork late in the session, and he gets a 'congratulations', but something about it seems...off. Jim's good at reading people, even when he isn't looking at them, and this isn't coming across entirely sincere. But Bones chooses that moment to release a particularly tricky knot, and Jim can't help but groan as the sensation goes directly to his rapidly filling cock. He tries not to grind into the table, aware that that would be pushing things _way _too far. He can control himself for one more session. 

There's something different in the air between them today, Jim is sure of it. Bones' touches seem to linger more, contact that is normally purely therapeutic seems almost tender, brushing over his skin between deeper presses in a way that cannot have any actual benefit to Jim's muscles. 

Jim has a fairly good internal clock, so he's sure they've been going for longer than usual, but maybe that's just wishful thinking on his part. He doesn't want this to be over, and if it has to be, he wants this last session to be something special, so his mind is convincing him it is. But when Bones' hand skims lower than it usually would, over the curve of Jim's ass, the touch more of a caress than anything else, Jim _knows _he's not imagining things, especially not when it happens a second time. 

Bones' hands drift back upwards, over the line of Jim's back, one hand coming to rest of the back of his neck, squeezing gently. Grounding. 

Jim can't stand it any longer. What the hell, it's his last session here, if he fucks everything up, he doesn't ever have to come back. 

Jim turns, moves up into a sitting position, pushing through the dizziness of moving too fast after an hour lying still, catches Bones' hand before it can drop, and presses it against his own cheek, looking up at Bones through his lashes. 

The look he gets in return is made of pure hunger, but he only gets to see it for a second before he tugs Bones towards him, for a messy, enthusiastic, perfect kiss, Jim's fingers catching in Bones' hair, pulling him closer, the little whimper Jim can't suppress getting lost in Bones' mouth. 

“What do you need?” Bones asks, his voice low and gentle, when they pull apart. 

“I need you to touch me.” Jim feels like that should be pretty obvious. The sheet that usually preserves his modesty is on the floor. 

“I’ve been doing that for the last hour. Gonna have to be a bit more specific.” Bones says with a low laugh, and Jim decides right there that he needs to find ways to make his voice sound like that more often. 

“I can’t ask that.” Jim shakes his head. He won't put Bones in a position where he feels like he's being pressured. He can't. 

Bones gets a look in his eyes that Jim can't quite read. It looks like respect, or acceptance. “Does it help you to know we’ve been off the clock for the last ten minutes?” He offers. 

“We have?” Jim had thought their session had seemed long. 

“Wouldn’t have asked otherwise"

That's all the permission Jim needs to pull Bones back into another one of those kisses. 

~*~

“Would it be terrible of me to ask you to dinner with me sometime?” Jim asks, later. He should probably have waited until they both had pants on, but he can't help it. 

“Why do you think I made sure you’re my last client tonight?" Bones doesn't seem bothered by the lack of pants, which Jim supposes is fair enough, considered what they'd just done together. 

Jim stares at him.

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask for the last three weeks.” 

"So that's a yes, then?" 

"Yes, Jim." 

**Author's Note:**

> Want to know more about Trektober? Click [HERE](https://aishahiwatari.tumblr.com/post/188059640163/trektober) for the info post on Aisha's tumblr, or [HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Trektober2019) for the AO3 collection to read our fic. 
> 
> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://demerite.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
